“And what would happen if Dogmill should learn the truth?”

Miss Dogmill closed her eyes for a moment. “Two years ago a carpenter to whom my brother owed some money grew rather desperate. He was none the most engaging man in the world, but Denny owed him more than ten pounds, which the fellow needed to feed his family. There are times when Denny will not pay what he owes tradesmen simply for the pleasure of watching them suffer and worry, and here was such a time. This carpenter seemed to understand that my brother teased him the way a child will tease a captured frog. So he sent Denny a note telling him that if he did not pay his bill, he would get his money by hook or by crook and that he would pluck me off the street and hold me hostage until justice was served.”

“I presume your brother did not take this kindly.”

“No. He went over to the carpenter’s house, beat his wife unconscious, and then beat the man unconscious. He then took a note for ten pounds, spat upon it, and stuffed it in the fellow’s mouth. He even tried to put it into his throat so he would choke on his money. I witnessed all this because the carpenter, in an effort to convince my brother I had been abducted, had invited me to his home, knowing I was sympathetic, pretending that he wished me to serve as an intermediary.” She took a deep breath. “I should very much have liked to have stopped his violence, but there is no stopping him once he begins. I should hate to see him let loose with his passions in the midst of Covent Garden while the electors stand by.”

“I can understand how you might feel thus.”

“You seem to have your passions much more at your disposal, and I thank you for your efforts today. I cannot say that this was the first time I have ever been threatened, and it is a much finer thing to have a capable man by your side.”

“It was my pleasure to serve you.”

She astonished me by reaching out and gently, just for an instant, laying her fingertips against my jaw where Dogmill had punched me. “He told me he struck you,” she said quietly. “It must have been very hard for you not to strike him back.”

I laughed softly. “I am not used to running from men like your brother.”

“You are not used to men like my brother at all. No one is. But I am sorry for what he did to you.”

“Don’t be sorry,” I said testily. “I chose to let him use me so.”

She smiled. “I have no doubt of your resolve, sir. No one who knows your name would make the mistake of doing so. I daresay my brother, if he knew who you were, would have hesitated himself.”

“As you have broached the topic, I would fain discuss it with you.”

She sipped from her dish of chocolate. “How did I know? I did the most extraordinary thing to make my discovery: I looked at your face. I have seen you before around town, sir, and I always remarked on your proceedings. Unlike some others, perhaps, I am not so easily fooled by the application of new clothing and a new name, though I think your disguise masterfully handled. The moment you came to see my brother, I thought I knew your face, and I could not rest until I hit upon it. At last it occurred to me that you looked uncommonly like Benjamin Weaver, but I was not certain until I danced with you. You move like a pugilist, sir, and the world knows of your leg injury, which I fear gave you away.”

I nodded. “But you have said nothing to your brother.”

“You have not been taken by the constables, so you may assume I have said nothing to my brother.”

“And you do not think he will guess?”

“How could he? I don’t know that he has ever laid eyes upon you- dressed as yourself, I mean- and there is no reason why he would suspect you come to him in disguise. He learned from Hertcomb about the chanting for Melbury and Weaver at the theater, and though he cursed at great length and with great vigor against Tories and Jacobites and Jews and the large franchise in general, he never once mentioned your name- Mr. Evans’s name, that is. And, allow me to assure you, he was in no frame of mind to censor himself.”

“Well, that is a relief, at least. But you know who I am. What do you plan to do?”

She shook her head. “I cannot yet say.” She reached out and placed one gloved hand on my arm just above my wrist. “Will you tell me why you sought to connect yourself to him in the first place?”

I let out a breath. “I don’t know if I should.”

“May I speculate?”

Something in her tone caught my attention. “Certainly.”

She looked away for a moment, and then turned to catch my gaze, her eyes as amber as her dress. I could tell that what she had to say could not be said with ease. “You think he had this man, Walter Yate, killed, and that he has put the blame on you.”

I stared I don’t know how long before I dared to speak. “Yes,” I said in a rasping voice, just above a whisper. “How could you know that?”

“I could not reach any other conclusion. You see, if you had truly killed that fellow, as you have been convicted of doing, you would have no business with my brother. You would have no need to play at masquerade. The only reason you might take such risks is to prove yourself guiltless, and I can only presume that you now search for the man who did murder Yate.”

“You are a very clever woman,” I said. “You would do well as a thieftaker.”

She laughed. “You are the first man to tell me so.”

“So now you know all my secrets.”

“Not all, surely.”

“No, not all.”

“But I know you think my brother is involved in Yate’s death.”

I nodded. “And does that place a wedge between us?”

“I cannot enjoy seeing my brother accused of so horrible a crime, but that does not mean I am blind to the possibility he may be guilty. He is, in his own way, very good to me, and I love him, but if he did this thing, he should be punished rather than let an innocent man hang in his stead. I could feel no resentment toward you for being the instrument of your own vindication. You could do no less. Indeed”- she lifted her dish and set it back down again-“Indeed,” she said once more, “indeed, I think he may be guilty as you suspect.”

I felt a tingle across my skin, the sensation one feels just before something of import happens in a stage play. I leaned toward Miss Dogmill. “Why do you say so?”

“Because,” she told me. She paused, looked away, and then looked toward me again. “Because Walter Yate came to visit my brother not a week before you were said to have killed him.”

I had been, for some time now, proceeding on the near certain assumption that Dogmill had orchestrated Yate’s death, so I cannot say why this revelation so surprised and delighted me. Perhaps it was because this was the closest I had yet come to being able to prove my assumption, and though it was true, as Elias had certainly pointed out, that proof alone would not save me, it was satisfying for all that.

“Tell me everything,” I said to Miss Dogmill.

And she did. She explained that, as I had already observed, she had a habit of peering in at who visited her brother, so she had been surprised to find a rugged, roughly dressed laborer in his parlor one day. He had refused to say much of himself, other than his name and that he had business with Mr. Dogmill. He had been polite but uncomfortable, clearly feeling out of place, which he well should have- seeing that he was but a dockworker sitting in the parlor of the wealthiest tobacco man in the kingdom.

“I thought it odd at the time that they should meet on such terms,” Miss Dogmill said, “but I knew there were disputes on the matter of wages among the labor gangs, and that Yate was one of the leaders. It seemed to me likely that my brother had invited him to the house to make Yate uneasy by taking him out of his own world.”

“And did you suppose more when you learned that Yate had been killed?”

“Not at first,” she said. “I read that you had been arrested for the crime and thought no more of it than that you lived your life in a rugged fashion and there were bound to be incidents of violence. It was only when I discovered you to be hounding my brother that I began to wonder what role he might have played in all of this. It then occurred to me that what I took to be discomfort in the presence of money may have been another kind of anxiety. I cannot say what Yate wished to discuss with my brother, but I suspect that if you were to learn, it would help your cause greatly.”